The Time in Between
by A2-7E-A2
Summary: Fills in the gap between Bellweather's arrest and Nick's graduation.
1. Chapter 1

The Time in Between

In every burrough there was a neighborhood where the concrete had broken down, and green life had begun to force its way through. Trees in the middle of allies, prairies carpeting empty lots. The buildings near these places were always broken down in their own right, and more often than not shone with graffiti. But the light always felt soft and the voices that seeped out from behind the broken doors were never angry. Benign decay.

It was in one of these groves that Nick was waiting. A single oak tree towered above the sidewalk, and Nick lay on one of the upper branches, limbs hanging loosely below him. A trifolded piece of paper was nestled in his right paw. Every now and then a gust of wind would nearly tug it free, but every time Nick adjusted his grip and brought it back under control. His eyes were closed.

"Come on, come on," he kept muttering. It was an unusually hot day for the Forest district; the Weather Works were on the fritz again. Nick desperately wished he was an animal that could sweat, or, better yet, that he could afford air conditioning. The weathermen had been prostrated themselves on television all afternoon, apologizing for allowing deep summer to interrupt their regularly scheduled spring. Nick moved his snout from directly on top of the branch to resting against the side, and began to pant. Beside the whirring of insects his breathing was the only sound.

Eventually, a noise broke the neighborhood's silence. Nick's ear twitched. A terrible rumbling filled the air, the sound of an old and unmuffled engine. Nick waited until he heard the sharp sound of the car turning on its rusted axles before opening his eyes. He turned to see Finnick's van barreling down the street towards him. Nick sighed – Finnick wasn't blasting music. Everything was always so much more difficult when he drove in silence.

The van screeched to a stop beneath Nick's branch. The door didn't open. The van just sat there, idling. Exhaust floated up into Nick's face. He tried not to cough.

"Stereo busted?" Nick called down.

No response. Nick could see Finnick's arm hanging out the driver side window, his tiny hand tap-tap-tapping against the door.

"Or was it stolen again?" Nick's voice was a slow drawl. "I keep telling you to get those locks fixed."

The tiny hand's tapping became more rapid, agitated. The engine revved and a fresh cloud of exhaust blew up into Nick's face. He smirked. This is the game they always ended up playing – who can get the other's goat first? First to lose his composure loses advantage, and is that much more likely to get the short end of whatever shtick they were going to pull. The image of Finnick in the elephant PJs rose in Nick's mind, and he had trouble not laughing as he spoke again.

"But that's always been a part of your general aesthetic, no? Not just broke, but too broke for even a car worth driving."

The engine kicked up another notch and the exhaust cloud bloomed in unison. For these little power games Nick had his tongue and Finnick had whatever was at hand. Today that meant an overactive exhaust pipe.

"Course even if it wasn't, you can always get away with it: no one who sees you driving is going to know you've had that car for ten years. They only see those tiny hands on that duct taped wheel and think – 'aww, kiddo's first car! Maybe it's a junker, but he still—"

"HEY!" Finnick's head popped out the window, face skyward and scowling. "Call my van "junk" one more time, Nick, just one more time, and I'm gonna have you stuffed and mount on my living room wall."

Nick swung down and hung by one paw. The other, still clutching the paper, was raised to his mouth in mock surprise. "What's all this about wanting to mount me? Why Finnick, I had no idea you felt this way!"

Finnick's ears folded flat against his skull and his voice dropped to little more than a low rumble. "Very funny. Just get to what you wanted to talk about already."

They eyed each other for one more second. "Right. Let's take a ride."

He dropped onto the roof of the van, drawing violent protest from Finnick, and from there slipped in through the passenger side window. Nick glanced over at the tower of phonebooks Finnick was perched on, remark on his tongue, when something caught his eye.

"Holy crap, someone actually stole your stereo?"

Finnick just glared at him.

#

They drove aimlessly about the Forest borough, sticking mainly to the main thoroughfares. Finnick drove like a maniac – swerving between lanes, constantly on laying on the horn, inching right up to the bumper of every car that had the misfortune to be in front on him. They had been driving for half an hour, but all he'd said in the last ten minutes had been threats to surrounding motorists. Nick watched him closely. Finnick kept his eyes locked on the road ahead.

"So, what do you think? " Nick prodded. Finnick chewed his cheek for another minute before responding.

"I thought you working for the fuzz was supposed to end after two days."

"It was." The voice of a patient parent, matched with the eyes of, well, Nick.

"I though it was a good joke. A good joke on _you_. A stupid sticker badge and that dumb look on yo face when that cop dragged you off. Man, I was laughing for days."

"I'm so glad to hear that you enjoyed yourself."

"Yeah, emphasize that past tense. En-joy-ED. Tch. What you expect me to do now – all the best scams we got are two fox deals. HEY MOVE IT 'FORE I BREAK YOU BIRDBRAIN."

"Take it easy, Finnick. That poor lady must have been at least ninety.

"She was a SLOTH."

"Which is why birdbrain was a little ill-fitting, don't you think? 'Slowpoke' would have been better, maybe even 'snail'."

"Nick."

"Snail brain? Naw. Slugs are slow: slug? Slug face? Eh, starting to get a little off-message.

"Nick."

"Or you could have just properly run her off the road. No need for witticisms if you had gone for a touch of the good old ultra–"

"Nick, I swear that if you don't shut up for one minute and let me think I'm going to crash this thing on purpose, just to send you through that rhino's back window. DRIVE LIKE YOU'VE GOT A PULSE, JERKWAD."

So Nick leaned back and watched the carnage, only opening his mouth when a police cruiser slid into the view behind them. Shortly after, Finnick turned off the main thoroughfare and onto a side road that curved back to the borough center. There were fewer drivers on this avenue, few people to verbally abuse. Finnick's fingers began drumming against the wheel.

"Honestly," Nick said," I didn't expect you to take it so –"

Finnick held one finger up, so close to Nicks face it nearly poked his eye.

"This isn't a scam, is it?" He kept the hand raise. Nick rolled his to looked around it, as though it was large enough to actually block his vision.

"It isn't."

"And it isn't your poor idea of a joke."

"Correct."

"Then _why_?" Finnick's face twisted sideways for a second, just a second, before snapping back to his scowl.

"Because I want to."

"That's not answering the question."

Pause. Finnick barely misses a goat-biker. When he spoke, Nick's voice wasn't so much soft as inaudible.

"It's my chance at a pack, Finnick."

"What?"

"I said 'it's my chance at a pack'."

Finnick finally looked at Nick, his expression slack with confusion.

"Man, what are you talking about?"

"Nevermind. Forget I said anything."

"A pack? You want a pack? You're a fox, stupid."

"I said _forget it_."

"You spend your whole life fleecing people, and you just suddenly want to be a cop because you want a damn pack!?" Finnick's voice had begun to rise.

Nick rubbed his eyes and sighed.

"Just nevermind, okay? It's not all I wanted to talk about."

"What the hell else then?"

Nick slid the piece of paper, which he had kept in his lap this entire time, across the dashboard.

"What's this?" Finnick said.

"An application for the police academy."

"What, can't fill it out yourself? Need me to do it for you?" Finnick sneered.

"No, mine is right here," Nick said, patting his pocket, "I want you to fill that out for yourself."

"Myself." Finnick repeated blankly.

"I thought you should apply to. Join the academy with me." Nick rubbed his neck. "We've been pulling scams for years, Finnick. I've enjoyed every second of it, but I'm moving on. I just figured that if you join too then we can still—"

"Get out."

"—have our wait, what?"

"I said, 'get out'." Finnick's voice was flat. The van screeched to a stop, drawing horn honks from all around. Nick's eyebrows knit together.

"Finnick…"

"I said, 'GET OUT'!" Finnick screamed, and started to push Nick towards the door. Nick didn't fight back. He just stared down at Finnick, gaping.

"Hey, calm down! Finnick, jeez, stop-ah, no biting!"

"Out, out, out!"

Finnick kept shoving while Nick backed away, opening the door with one hand while the other was raised against Finnick's tiny claws. He stumbled backwards out onto the pavement. The door slammed shut, and Finnick stuck his entire upper body through the window. He whipped the crumpled application down at Nick. It bounced high off his head.

"I ain't gonna be part of your posse, pig!"

Nick watched, stunned, as the van pulled away, turned a corner, and was gone. He ignored the cars swerving around him, as well s the pigs on the sidewalk muttering angrily about "such hurtful language. He just stared at the spot of empty air where the van had disappeared from sight.

"Well, crap." He said at last.

#

You'd be forgiven for calling the city hospital a zoo. The city had only one, Zootopia General, and it was a massive of construct, as old as the city itself. It was always packed. A strange amalgamation of architectures, each new addition over the years had been done in a different style, and the wings ran the gamut from white-washed brick to sleek expanses of steel and glass.

The place practically hummed with activity. Every entrance had mammals coursing through them, but some were less crowded than others. One, which Nick eyed for a long time before walking past, was thronged by reporters. A line of police held them in check, making sure only patients made it through the doors.

Experience had taught Nick to seek out the busiest entrance, which was today, per usual, the doors to the emergency room. Nick slipped into the crowd streaming in, beside a kangaroo whose pouch carried a howling joey. Nick smiled.

The interior was in a state of near-perfect chaos. Nurses dealt with patients who always seemed two size classes larger than them. An otter taking the vitals of a hippo scrunched into a tiny plastic chair. A hedgehog telling a wild-looking grizzly to sit back because sir we are doing our best and everyone needs to wait their turn. Nick walked up to the nurses' station, pulling a slim envelope from his pocket. The porcupine manning the desk seemed to be answering five different phones at once. She looked flustered, stressed, probably sleep deprived as well. Nick smile widened for a moment before he dropped it and adopted a harassed look of his own.

"Ma'am, ma'am. Excuse me, ma'am!" Nick said, sliding up against the desk. He leaned over slightly, locking eyes with the nurse.

"What can I help you – yes, Zootopia General Hospital. Mhm. Let me transfer you to admissions." The nurse shifted her gaze to a phone console and jabbed a rapid sequence of buttons. The moment she looked away Nick's eyes began to dart across the desk, lingering on memo titles, room lists, patient's charts, and, holy of holies, a call list. When the nurse looked away from the phone Nick's eyes were locked once more on her face, as though they had never looked away.

"I'm sorry, what can I, uh, help you with?" The nurse said.

"Courier service. I have papers for Doctor Ratline."

"He's on rounds right now. Just hand them over and I'll get them to him." She raised her hand expectantly. Nick stared at it, looking apologetic.

"I'm sorry, it's just that I need to _serve_ these myself, if you catch my drift. What department is he in?"

"Sir, you can't just wander about the hospital on your own. If you wait here, I'll—"

"What if I get one of those security guards to take me? I can see a little post of them down the hall."

"Sir, I'm sorry but—"

"Please," Nick pleaded. "I'm behind schedule. If I wait here for the good Dr my boss will tan my hide for wasting time. Just tell me what department and I promise I'll be gone in a flash."

The nurse stared at him for a second, then sighed.

"Fine. Head down and ask them to take you to psych. And stick this on your shirt so they know its fine," she said, handing him an initialed visitor pass. Then a phone rang and she tilted her head back to the receiver. Nick mouthed a thank you, and walked off.

Once he was out of sight his smirk crept back immediately. Signs on the wall pointed to the ways to the different wings. A pink arrow told Nick that the psych ward was to his left, and a blue arrow said the small mammal wards lay to the right. Before he was even halfway to the security post Nick turned down a side hall, heading right.

Before long he'd made his way back to the area infested by reporters. He glared through the glass doors at them, and couldn't help but catch a few snippets of conversation.

"How can she still not want to interview- it's been three days already!"

"That police briefing wasn't nearly enough, we need _details_."

"Officer Hops wishes to be left in peace." The police repeated over and over.

Nick found himself growling quietly. Journalists, reporters, photographers – their mere presence put him on edge. He moved on, a slimy feeling sticking in his throat.

When Judy had called him the day before she had briefly mentioned what her room was like. It was on the third floor, with a window overlooking a park far below. This was just before she'd said Chief Bogo had "advised" her to refuse all visitors, especially reporters. 'It looks like I won't be able to see you until I'm let out', she'd said apologetically, a statement to which Nick could only smile in response.

When the elevator doors opened to the third floor, Nick walked out pushing a mop bucket. The bucket, as well as a blue janitor's jumper and hat, had been swiped from a supply closet on the ground floor. And while it was hardly ideal (for one, the sour smell of tobacco clung to the jumper) he was glad he had taken the precaution: two police officers, leopards both, waited outside a room halfway down the hall. Judy's, he could only assume. The only luck here was that Nick didn't think he'd run into either officer before.

Nick took a deep breath, pulled the hat's brim down low, and walked down the hallway. He paused occasionally to dab at a spot on the floor, so that when he arrived at the officers the bucket water was a nasty shade of grey. Then, trying not to overact, he tipped the bucket over.

The officers tried to spring out of the way, but neither was quick enough. They both ended up soaked from the knees down in dirty water. They yelled at Nick, whose only response was to tilt his head down and mumble apologetically. As he mopped the water up he watched the officers' tails flick about. He could practically hear the internal debate. Soon enough, they both wandered off, muttering something about "just a minute" and "Spares in the break room". Nick waited until they had turned the corner before turning the door knob and going inside.

The TV was on low, showing an old episode of Leave it to The Beaver. Opposite the screen was the room's only bed, and in it lay Judy, asleep. Her foot was raised in a white plaster cast.

Nick quietly pushed the mop and bucket off the side, then slipped out of the jumper. He pulled up a chair beside her bed and sat down, resting his feet on the bed's frame. He watched her for a minute, wondering if it would be better to wake her or not. Her nose twitched as she slept.

He decided to wait, at least until the episode of Beaver playing wrapped up. Just sitting there, mid-afternoon light shining in, was pleasant change of pace.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Her dreams weren't bad, per se. Intense might have fit better. Often, they were little more than brief flurries of motion and a sense of violence. They always played out with the same cast of characters: Nick, Bellwether, and herself. The settings always remained vague, and the three's action changed with each new dream, but they all shared that same intensity.

Later, she would see this dream as a fairly straightforward replication of what happened at the museum. Nick playing savage, Bellwether ranting long and hard, and then the thrill of victory at the last moment. But in this dream she kept seeing the tusk which had torn her leg. When she fell over the railing, she landed on top of it. When Nick rushed towards her neck, his teeth were replicas of the tusk, all askew in his gums and too large for his mouth. They made a sound like granite cracking when they snapped around her neck.

Her eyes snapped open. She exhaled slowly, letting go of a breath she had been holding in her sleep. The TV was still showing the same sitcom, a canned laugh track seeping out from the speaker. For a moment she stared blearily at the screen, eyes half-lidded. Then she shook herself fully awake, dislodging the last bits of dream. She stretched with a small groan, arms raised and back arched. A voice spoke beside her, and she froze.

"So tell me, exactly how much does it itch beneath that cast?"

Judy looked to her side, arms still raised, and saw Nick smirking back at her. He sat slumped in a chair close by the bed, and when Judy gaped at him he raised his paw in a mocking little "hello". Judy broke into a smile, ears perking up in sync with her widening grin. She tried to lean over and hug him, but Nick was inches out of reach.

"Hey now, don't injure yourself again. One wound at a time."

She ignored the quip. When she spoke, she bounced slightly in her bed.

"How did you get in here? No one is supposed to be allow!" But before Nick could answer, Judy cut back in, her eyes narrowed. "It was the window, wasn't it. You came in right through the window. I thought the lock looked broken, but I can't get over and look."

"I didn't use the window. And keep it down – those two thugs outside might hear, and I don't feel like getting the bum's rush."

"Then how?" Judy asked, dropping her voice to a stage whisper.

"Magicians and secrets, Carrots. We'd be ruined without them."

"Oh, you're no fun." She settled back into her bed, propped up on one elbow. Then suddenly, she giggled. "Bogo will have Charles and Finley's hides if he ever finds out you made it in here."

Nick arched an eyebrow. "Delighting in the misfortune of others? Fame's changed you, Carrots."

"Quiet. They're the ones keeping me in isolation anyway, I'm allowed a little bit of friendly spite."

"Mhm."

"What? I am!"

"I didn't say anything. So how're you holding up?"

Judy wrinkled her nose.

"I'm bored. Bogo won't allow me to let any visitors in, something about 'managing press expectations.'"

"Well, last time you got behind a microphone you nearly started a species-war."

"You'll never let me live that down, will you?"

"Probably not. It just gets funnier the more time goes on, you know?"

"The same way your tax evasion continues to make me chuckle?"

"Hey now, I thought we had moved past that. I'm a changed fox Carrots, holding that stuff against me would be –"

"—Consistent? Intelligent?"

"—petty. Morally dubious."

Judy stuck her tongue out at him, a little patch of pink against her grey fur.

"You're so dismissive. Here I am, bearing my heart—"

"Your puns are getting worse."

"—and you stick your tongue out at me. I'm hurt, truly hurt."

"Didn't you say that you'd never let people get to you, yet here you are, whining and complaining."

Judy's smile slipped from her face the moment the words left her mouth.

"That was mean, Nick. I don't know what, I'm sorry, I.."

Nick held up a paw."

"It's fine. No honestly, you can stop making that face. It's what I expected anyway, from a dumb bunny like—"

He had to duct to avoid the pillow she threw. It hit the wall behind him with a soft thwap, and fell to the ground. He picked it up, stuck it behind his head, and settled back. His smirk had slipped back onto his face.

"Glad to see your throwing arm is just fine."

"Glad to see your sense of humor is as painful as ever."

"Hey, without it I'd be useless. It'd be like…like, and this is just off the top of my head, a cop with a broken leg. Okay, maybe not that useless, but you get the idea."

The second pillow hit him directly in the face.

#

They talked for hours, mostly about inconsequential stuff. Nick could see Judy continue to perk up the longer they talked, as though she was waking up from a sleep that lasted days rather than an hour long nap. It made him wonder how it had felt to finish a case like that, something so suspenseful, only to be immediately shunted into a hospital room. Locked away. Nick wasn't sure if he personally would have welcomed the chance to decompress, or would have been driven up the walls.

For her part, Judy seemed somewhere in between. Often she was content to lay back and disengage. At other times, she was bubbly to the point of being manic. He though to ask her in greater depth how she was doing, but the question never made it to the tongue. Somehow it felt too personal. Judy, on the other hand, constantly peppered Nick with questions.

"How are _you_ holding up?"

"Really, you seem tired."

"Yeah, but how are you recovering? What's been going on?"

She let Nick sidestep her questions easily enough, but she kept returning to them. It made Nick's hair prick up. Perhaps Judy noticed this bristling, because slowly the questions tapered off.

The vital stats got traded pretty quickly: Judy would be out in days, not weeks; the DA had confided to her that Bellwether would see at least ten years inside; Bogo had actually _complemented_ her, of all things.

The piece that got Judy's attention was that Nick claimed to have not run any scams, a true fact that that he tried very hard to make sound false. She teased him ("but that's what, $800 in lost profit?") but there was a softness to her chiding. Nick felt the outlines of his application in his pocket, but didn't pull it out.

He left just as it was getting dark. Judy was starting to fade, getting quieter for longer stretches of time, though when Nick got up to leave she protested.

"I'll come back. Wouldn't want you to get too bored in here, would we? You might start investigating the hospital staff, expose their drug ring purely out of frustration."

He paused at the door, thinking briefly how he would get out. 'Ah well', he thought as he turned the doorknob, 'Occam's Razor.'

So he opened the door, nodded at the two stunned guards, then ran.

#

As usual, the display TVs in L'Hippo Bottom's Electronics Shop turned on exactly at 9:59 AM. They were arrange din the display window into one massive embankment of screens, facing out towards the sidewalk. In unison they stuttered to life. M. Bottom left them permanently on the News Channel, and soon enough a dozen screens were playing out the stories of the day. As always, Nick was on the sidewalk, ready to watch.

Weather machine still not fixed. New mayoral candidates announced for special election. Dates for Bellwether's trial. Another Bug Burger health scandal. Petty crime of the day. Back to the (badly skewed) weather forecast. More crime. A brief mention of the reporters thronging outside the hospital doors, a longer analysis of the police statement regarding the Bellwether arrest.

Occasionally someone would brush past Nick, but for the most part the sidewalk was empty. Nick stood alone, hands in pockets, waiting for L'Hippo to squeeze his head out the door and tell him to buy something or scram. He figured he had another minute of tolerated loitering.

On the TVs Bogo gave the statement, Judy standing by his side. Her few lines sounded rigid, over-rehearsed, and when she had spoken them she was helped offstage by fellow officers. Nick couldn't read Bogo's expression when he watched her leave.

A bell jingled as the shop door opened. By the time M. Bottom's head emerged, mouth open and ready for bellowing, Nick had already gone.

He walked around the neighborhood aimlessly for a while, just watching the inhabitants. A coyote sat with a mangled guitar on a street corner, hat half filled with change. A group of hyenas emerged from a burger joint, cackling with their mouths full. Two jaguars jogged by. As he passed by the precinct police station giraffe tripped and fell, and officers swarmed out to help him back up. A mouse sat on the curb yelling slurs. The 'ching' of an expired parking meter. A wolf dragging another wolf into the police station, both growling. A massive Rhino unit police cruiser. A cheetah carrying a massive box of donuts through the station doors.

After his fifth time around the block, fifth time passing the station, Nick stopped. He sighed, hating the fact that he felt nervous, hating that he _wanted_ to do something which made him nervous. The nervousness itself he could accept.

The above the doors simply said "Police", with a smaller sign reading "4th Precinct: Forest". The doors were built for all sizes, and they towered above Nick. They slide open before him, and he walked inside. The place smelled faintly of cleaning supplies. Nick could nearly see his reflection in the polished stone floor. The interior wasn't as cavernous as Central Station (ask Nick how he knew, and he would deftly change the subject) but it was large enough to intimidate. Nick made himself smile, then walked straight up to the front desk.

Behind the desk sat an otter in uniform, idly squeezing a stress ball. He watched Nick saunter across the room to him, eyes following each step. When Nick stood in front of the desk his chin barely reached the desktop. The otter, sitting on a raised chair, looked down at him coolly. Nick cleared his throat. The otter arched an eyebrow. For a long moment neither spoke. Dominance games, again.

"Where," Nick said at last, "can I turn in this application?"

Nick pulled the folded piece of paper out of his pocket and placed it on the desk. It had become slightly crumpled.

"All legal documents need to be turned in to the courthouse in Central. Applications for bail need the bailiff's signature, and the name of the prisoner—"

"It's not an application for bail."

"Oh?" The Otter's other eyebrow arched. Nick's nose twitched.

"It's an application for a job."

"Janitor?"

"Police force." Nick's had to fight hard not to grind his teeth.

"Really." The otter finally grabbed the application. He unfolded it and read over it, his expression still blank. "Police Academy's recruiting season is almost over."

"Almost?"

"A week from today they stop accepting new students. I think."

"You think?"

The otter lowered the paper slightly and eyed Nick.

"Do you always repeat others this much?"

"Can you just tell me where to turn in that application?" Nick's voice was barely civil. Controlling his tone was more difficult than he thought it would be. Somehow it was different from when he was acting out a scam. Then, he could play any part, no matter how humiliating.

'But this isn't acting', said a voice in his head, 'is it?'

"I can take it, make sure it makes it to the right place. Though, I can't say you'll make the registration deadline."

"You just said there was a week left!"

"I think there is. Beside, you have to pass an interview before being accepted. Can take a little while for those to happen. More than a week maybe. Why do you want to join the police? Standard question."

"I think I would do well on the police."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, I did pretty good work when I helped you guys last week."

The otter's brow creased.

"What do you mean?"

"I helped Hopps with the Bellwether arrest. I was there with her."

The otter swiveled in the chair and hollered at a passing police wolf.

"Hey Jesse, what was the name of that fox? The one Bogo was so irked by?"

"Uh, Wilde? Wilde something. Nathan maybe." The wolf responded, shrugging, then left. The otter turned back to Nick.

"If you really did help Hopps, tell me why you didn't stay for the debriefing, or for an interview, or anything?"

"I just don't like being the center of attention."

"I could always call Hopps and ask her if you're who you say you are."

"That would be an excellent idea."

"Or Chief Bogo."

"Certainly a fine resource as well."

The Otter squeezed his stress ball.

"Would you take a seat over there? I need to make some calls. If they confirm who you are, I'll get you in with the recruiting officer. If not…"

Nick ignored the implicit threat.

"You said interviews take more than a week to set up!"

"I said they _can_."

The otter picked up the phone. When Nick stayed there, gaping at him, he waved him off towards the waiting area. Nick slowly turned, and went away. The expression of disbelief stayed on his face.

There was a few chairs, and tables with magazines piled on top. Nick chose a seat beside a twitchy-looking pair of hedgehogs. He crossed his arms, and stared angrily at the ceiling. A select few thoughts kept circling around his head: how packs are worst when you're on the outside, how he's still nervous, how much he truly _hates_ that otter.

But then there was a loud and tinny shouting and Nick looked down just in time to see the otter wincing as a voice screamed through the telephone receiver he held a foot from his ear. Nick smirked. He put his feet up on the table, and suddenly felt alright with the idea of waiting.


End file.
